


Until We Go Down

by serenalunera



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Zombie Apocalypse, Alternate Universe - War, Blood and Injury, Character Death, Graphic Description of Corpses, Guns, Gunshot Wounds, Heavy Angst, I made myself sad, Knives, M/M, Murder, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rickyl Writers' Group, Soldier!Everyone, Stabbing, Weapons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-13
Updated: 2016-03-13
Packaged: 2018-05-26 11:47:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6237388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serenalunera/pseuds/serenalunera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daryl had never killed a man before. Animals, yes. He had skinned more rabbits growing up than all the guys from his platoon had their whole lives. And yet here he was, a trembling, shivering mess, crouching in his unit's trenches with barely enough willpower left to hold on to his weapon. The only thing tethering him to this plane of existence had to be Rick, his hand comfortably curled around the back of Daryl's neck as he stared at him, a familiar picture painted all over his baby blues – love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Until We Go Down

**Author's Note:**

> this is just me trying my hand at angst for a "going away to war AU" prompt sent to me on tumblr *insert shrug emoji*  
> please don't kill me when you're done reading this and please please please mind the tags  
> 

“This shit makes training look like child's play now, hu?” Daryl rasped, the contrast between the ivory of his teeth and the spatters of crimson smeared all over his face made glaring by the half-smile clinging to his lips as he spoke.

Whose blood this was, Daryl had no idea. At least that was what he was trying to convince himself of, when in truth the face of the man he had shot only minutes ago would forever be imprinted behind his eyelids, with no way to escape its lifeless stare. The blood was still fresh, dripping down his brow in carmine rivulets, threatening to spill in his eyes every time he blinked. His hands were shaking, and he liked to pretend it was because of the wind biting at his fingers, but deep down, Daryl knew it had nothing to do with the cold, and everything to do with what he had just done.

Daryl had never killed a man before. Animals, yes. He had skinned more rabbits growing up than all the guys from his platoon had their whole lives. And yet here he was, a trembling, shivering mess, crouching in his unit's trenches with barely enough willpower left to hold on to his weapon. The only thing tethering him to this plane of existence had to be Rick, his hand comfortably curled around the back of Daryl's neck as he stared at him, a familiar picture painted all over his baby blues – love.

His face was wrinkled with lines that hadn't been there when they had left for the front, the light in his eyes mostly gone except for the faint flicker of his feelings for the other man. He was covered in blood from head to toe, crimson droplets clinging to his lashes, his once brown curls now tinted red plastered against his forehead, making him look like some kind of untameable beast. Which was exactly what he had proven himself to be these past few hours, shooting down more soldiers than anyone else in their unit, spilling blood to protect, to save – to avenge.

Rick had never been a violent man. He had never been a pacifist, either. More of a moral compass, really, but when it came to protecting the ones he had come to call his family over the years, he found there was nothing he wouldn't do, let alone kill a man – or a dozen. His hands had trembled just the same when the first bullet had sunk into the enemy's heart, and his gaze had been just as unfocused as Daryl's when the body had hit the ground in a deafening thud, confirming his very first kill.

Or was it murder?

The blood covering his temples was the blood of family men, with worried wives and loving children. It was the blood of beloved sons, brothers and cousins. The red on his forehead was human, whereas the one in his eyes was animal. The old Rick wanted to stop, to throw his rifle to the ground and surrender, but the new Rick wanted – no, needed – to keep going, to kill every last one of them if it meant keeping his loved ones safe. If it meant keeping Daryl safe.

“We need to move back. They're gaining ground on us. We won't make it if we don't fold back now.” Rick's voice was decisive, like the strike of a judge's gavel after a trial. The men around him nodded, Shane signaling the plan to the ones farthest from them before getting a move on.

The unit was treading carefully through the trenches when Abraham's voice resounded, yelling at them to run towards the treeline, the sound of bullets flying through the air giving a sense of urgency to the man's orders. Most of the troops retreated at that, with only a few stragglers remaining to fight alongside Sergeant Ford, providing cover for the ones pulling away from the trenches.

Rick had to physically drag Daryl towards the treeline, the younger man fighting him all the way, shouting that he needed to help them, that he had seen Tyreese go down and that this wasn't right – to no avail. Once at a safe enough distance from the battlefield, Rick shoved him hard against a tree, caging him in before holding him by the sides of his face, fingers sticky with blood leaving streaks all over Daryl's cheeks. The soldier's gaze was wide and full of terror as they stared at one another, his hands coming up to grasp Corporal Grimes' collar to ground himself.

“We need to find the others, regroup, and find a place to ambush Blake's troops. Think you can do that?” Rick spoke softly, his voice barely above a whisper as he tilted his head, still holding the other man's gaze, the fingers on his face migrating to the sides of his neck, thumbs brushing over his pulse point.

“Yeah. I can do that.” Daryl nodded shakily, letting out a ragged breath through his mouth before letting go of his superior's jacket, their eyes still locked together as his hands slid down the man's chest to fall limp against his sides.

The older man pulled back, his hands leaving what felt like a burning imprint on the skin of Daryl's neck as they withdrew, curling around his weapon instead. The soldier did the same before following in Rick's footsteps, both men making their way through the forest in quiet, practiced steps. They came upon a clearing a few minutes later, the pair ducking into the thick bushes outlining the edge in order to survey the area, deeming it safe after a few minutes of silent observation.

\---

The sound of a gunshot ripped through their ears the moment Rick took a measured step forward, a bullet grazing his arm, another hitting the tree behind him. Daryl leaped to his feet at the sound, pulling the other man back into the bushes seconds before another bullet came flying through the air, ending its course in the earth, right at their feet. Rick cursed, clutching the side of his arm briefly before cocking his rifle, mirroring the position Daryl was in, aiming towards the other side of the clearing.

The pair stood stock-still as they scanned the treeline, Daryl catching sight of one of their assailants as a feeble ray of sunshine hit the metal of his gun. The soldier gave a slight jerk of the head in the direction of the man he had spotted, alerting his superior before adjusting his aim, ready to pull the trigger. A small nod from Rick and a gunshot resounded, quickly followed by the thud of a body falling to the ground, as well as more bullets speeding through the air, hitting the trees and the ground all around them.

Both sides kept shooting at one another for what seemed like forever, up until a couple of men went down on the opposite side and a loud curse echoed throughout the clearing. Daryl ducked behind the nearest tree, plastering his back against the bark as he clutched at his side where a bullet had gotten him, whereas Rick started counting the rounds he had left. All in all, the pair had to have about five bullets left – which sounded more like a death sentence than salvation.

The corporal turned to look at the other man, worry etched onto his brow. Daryl was about to give him a small, resigned smile when the sound of twigs snapping had them both whipping around towards the clearing, where half a dozen men were stalking over to them, guns raised. Rick swore, scrambling to his feet just in time to avoid the shower of pellets aimed in his direction. Daryl held his breath, holding onto his side as he pulled himself up, the older man covering for him by shooting one of the men in the face, his second to last bullet only succeeding in pushing through another man's thigh.

Rick's last round pierced through a third man's heart, seconds before a bullet lodged itself in the corporal's shoulder, sending him crashing to the ground. Someone screamed, and even if Daryl's ears were ringing with the sounds of gunshots and his own blood pumping in his veins, he was pretty sure it had been him. It took everything he had in him to lift himself away from the tree he had been leaning against, and aim straight for the closest man's abdomen, the enemy falling to the ground in a pained wail.

Daryl's last bullet hit a soldier – the one who had shot Rick – in the knee, the man toppling over the one the corporal had hit in the thigh. With no rounds left, the younger man didn't waste any time before rushing towards the last man standing, hitting him right in the face with the butt of his rifle, the momentum pulling on the wound in his side making him hiss in pain. Daryl took his knife out of its sheathe and barely had the time to sink it into the stunned man's jugular when a sharp, breathtaking pain shot through his chest, his back colliding with the hard ground seconds later.

Another scream echoed in the clearing, and this time Daryl was pretty sure it was Rick's. The corporal had somehow scrambled to his feet, holding onto his bleeding shoulder and staring in horror as the younger man lay shaking on the earth, blood pouring out of his chest at an alarmingly fast pace. Rick's vision went red as he picked up one of the enemy's discarded guns from the floor, shooting one of the men left alive right between the eyes before aiming for the last one – the one who had shot Daryl.

The weapon clicked, but no bullet came out, and it's with a rage-filled scream that Rick threw himself on top of the man, before repeatedly hitting him in the head with the stock of the gun. An eternity went by before the corporal stopped, only dropping the rifle once the crack of the man's skull had resounded, the morbid sound sinking into his bones as he sat back on his haunches. Rick took a few deep, shaky breaths before crawling over to where Daryl lay, the color almost completely drained from his face, aside from the red splattered all over his cheeks and forehead.

“Daryl, stay with me. I'm here. I'm not leaving your side, you hear me? Someone's gonna come looking, just stay with me.” Rick's own voice was unrecognizable in his ears, unsteady and broken, just like the hold of his trembling hands on the younger man's chest, where he was trying to put pressure on the wound.

Blood was seeping through his fingers in rivers, the younger man's glassy eyes unfocused as he tried his hardest to keep looking at Rick, even though all he could see was the blurry outline of a broken man. Daryl strained to bring one of his hands up, resting it over the older man's arm, his fingers leaving crimson imprints on his superior's jacket. Daryl started coughing then, blood spurting out of his mouth and rolling down the side of his face, tainting his pale lips red.

The corporal cursed, his breathing speeding up as another wave of panic hit him, forcing him to press harder on the younger man's chest. The motion tore another coughing fit out of the soldier, who chanced a smile in spite of it all, the whole thing looking more like a grimace as his own blood percolated around his teeth, turning what was once ivory into a gruesome shade of carmine.

“S'ok, Rick... I ain't afraid of dyin'. Was just afraid of dyin' alone, but yer here, so... I'm good.” Daryl's voice was faint, just like his heartbeat when the corporal pressed a finger over his pulse point. The younger man's head lolled to the side slowly, his eyes fluttering closed as his hand lost its grip on Rick's arm, falling limply to the ground, the rise and fall of his chest stopping completely.

“No... No, no... Daryl, you can't leave me here... Daryl, wake up. Please! I can't do this without you... Don't leave me here...” Rick choked back a sob, tears streaming down his face, leaving rosy streaks in their wake as he stared at the lifeless body in front of him.

The body of the man he had come to love.

Rick didn't know how much time had passed since Daryl had stopped breathing, but his hand was now cold as the corporal cradled it into his own. The soldier's features were as relaxed as Rick had ever seen them, all the worry gone, replaced by a mask of false peace. He was beautiful, the uniqueness of his features and the youth the war had robbed from him highlighted by the stark contrast of red on white painted across his face.

The corporal was so lost in his contemplation of what was now lost to him that he didn't hear the carefully concealed footsteps a little ways behind him, or the soft click of a gun as its owner turned the safety off. The one thing he heard was the sound of a bullet leaving the chamber.

And then nothing.

\---

“Come on, man! We gotta keep looking, they have to be here, somewhere!” Glenn gritted his teeth, jerking his head towards one of the directions they hadn't been in yet, forcing a sighing Shane to follow him through the maze of trees and thick bushes.

Shane was about to say something when Glenn stopped dead in his tracks, causing the older man to lose his balance for a second as he tried to avoid collision. Shane frowned, following the soldier's line of sight until his gaze fell on a pile of corpses near the edge of the clearing they were closing in on. The corporal squinted as he strode towards the bloody mess, his legs stopping him a few paces away from it as two bodies caught his eye, both wearing the same uniform – the very one he and Glenn were clad in.

Shane held his breath as he took in the gunshot wound splitting open the skull of a man he had taken pride in calling his best friend, and the blood-soaked face of the one man Rick would have wanted nothing more than to call his husband one day. There was a gasp behind him as Glenn walked closer, finally taking notice of whose bodies were lying on the ground like discarded ragdolls.

The scene looked like a macabre remake of Romeo and Juliet, Shane thought. Daryl was lying on his back, covered in blood – the enemy's, Rick's, and his own – and his lover's body, what was left of Rick's head resting over the open wound of his chest, like some sort of prophetic symbolism. Shane let out the breath he had been holding, stepping back from the corpses of the men he used to call his friends, rubbing the back of his head in an effort to chase away the image from his eyes.

“You wanted to find 'em, here they are.”

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr @[serenalunera](http://serenalunera.tumblr.com)


End file.
